The Heap
by Snail's Stories
Summary: A mech survives a battle and helps clean up. He's still wondering why he does this when all it brings him is a dirty chassis and a injured limb.


THE HEAP

The battle was finally over. They had won-for a price. The lone mech limped tiredly across the mutilated field, cursing his damaged limb as it caused him to stumble on the deep ruts left from the carnage. Straightening, he brushed a hand across the fraction symbol on his chest. The once vibrant hue had flaked off long ago, leaving a pale impression of color behind. He sighed, glancing around at the now former battlefield. Medics, grim and determined, tended to the injured and the dying. Moans filtered through his audios, the air vibrating with misery. Soldiers, scarred and bulky with armor, guarded the medics and stood talking with other stone-faced survivors.

He started walking in the direction of his superior officer. Dust trailing behind him, he cleared his vocalizer sharply once he got close enough to the mech he called leader. The hulking, pale yellow chassis jerked in surprise, dark green optics glancing toward him warily.

"What is it?" he said gruffly.

"Um," he never knew what the right thing to say was in these situations despite being alive for longer than most of these mechs, his leader included. "Ca- Calcite is dead, sir." Calcite was the troop's second in command and had led them for as long as he remembered.

Gypsum vented low. "I see," he paused, suspiciously over bright optics looking at the field beyond the temporary campground. "Put him with the others then, we can't waste any more time staying in this Primus forsaken place. The reinforcements our enemies talked about could be here soon." His vocalizer cracked, but neither mech said a word.

"Yes sir, I'll put him with the others right away." Gypsum hurriedly turned away then, and strode towards a group of high ranking soldiers close to the medical tent.

He wondered briefly why Gypsum didn't ask him to show him where Calcite's body was located, but dismissed the question mentally and hastily walked towards Calcite's body, spark clenching in empathy for the now solitary mech Calcite had left behind.

Calcite was a gaunt mech, sky-blue frame always vibrating with manic energy in life. Rumor was that he had some sort of problem with his heating system which required him to continuously move in order to function. Primus only knew how he slept.

He grabbed Calcite's prone form, struggling to lift him up, nearly falling as his leg tried to give out under him. He cursed and righted himself with difficulty, walking to what the other soldiers called the Heap, shifting Calcite's body in his arms.

The Heap was at its simplest- a hole. A hole used for many things certainly, but most of all, disposal. There were many of them scattered across the world, most usually coming into existence after a major battle or natural catastrophe. It wasn't uncommon for a Heap to take up to three days to dig, even with powerful mechs with alt-modes suited for excavating. Many complained that making a Heap was a dangerous and useless project, because the enemy could attack at any time during the process. Most troop leaders agreed. Gypsum was adamant, however. He believed that the dead, Autobot or Decepticon, deserved to be respected… regardless of the risk it brought the troop. It had cost many mechs their lives, but they still served Gypsum, because none of them were truly cut out to be a leader. Not everyone could be Optimus Prime, after all.

Stopping at the edge of the Heap, he looked down at the mass of bodies stripped bare of their armor and components, loose cables shining faintly in the dying sunlight. He looked at Calcite for the last time, while a voice in the back of his processor whispered its regret at losing the chance at nabbing Calcite's sturdy shoulder armor. He shifted his weight, and as gently as he could, tossed Calcite into the Heap, wincing at the sound of metal hitting metal.

Turning away, Particulate faced the bright orange sunset, its rays warming his dusty brown plating. Closing his red optics, he listened to the various sounds of the camp. He hoped that battle could be avoided for another day. Primus knows that a Graver never got any rest anymore since the war started. Summoning a half empty energon cube from subspace, he took a sip and hoped he survived another day.


End file.
